


quality to quantity {kinda on hiatus?}

by dedicaiton



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bruises, Choking, Coffee Shops, Cop Bucky Barnes, Drinking to Cope, Excessive Drinking, Falling In Love, Heavy Angst, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Prostitute Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Slow Burn, Smoking, Strangers to Lovers, Stripper Steve Rogers, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Top Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-05-25 17:14:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14981807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedicaiton/pseuds/dedicaiton
Summary: Cafe worker by day, prostitute/stripper by night, Steve Rogers juggles his life quite well. That is until he's asked to work nights at Tony's Cafe. It's where he meets cop Bucky Barnes and his life gets flipped upside down.Steve handles abuse from his club owner, shame from his new lover, and constant regret as Bucky shows him to a new life where he could have everything he wants without working. He could have anything he desires, but who was he to trust a rat that could ruin him with a snap of calloused fingers? What was he to do? How was he supposed to keep living normally anymore? Has Steve ever lived.. normally?





	1. defy

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains alcohol abuse, abuse in general, sex, prostitution, rape, minor character death, descriptions of death/crime scenes, excessive drinking, anxiety attacks, foul language, heavy angst, and sadness.  
> Not to mention your not so stereotypical coffee shop au.  
> More warnings will be added with each chapter so be sure to check Author's Notes regularly !!  
> Please note though that this will probably not be a story for the faint of heart. In my opinion at least.

_"Please.." A simple cry, a whine. Blonde hair plastered to a sticky forehead with a mouth open wide. Somewhere, there's a jut of hips and a curtain of deep brown shaking. A calloused hand runs through the dark hair with sweet, supple touches. Then, a sharp tug on the locks. A gasp emits. The sound rings loudly in the bright room. Blue eyes pace back and forth but close shut when there's another thrust delivered. "Oh, God."_

_A fireball, rising from the ashes it created, with some slick, white mess. The ball is overpowering, and the rubber band in his stomach is threatening to snap. Blue eyes shed tears, too many, and they're shutting once more. Hard and painful._

_"I'm- oh god, I'm going to cum, ----," The blonde calls out feverishly. His voice is raspy and deep; too proactive. "Please, please, please!"_

_He can't see anything._

Another gasp.

Steve awakes with a start. The sheets he's residing in are full of sweat and, moving copious blankets, he sees his boxers are ruined with wetness as well. He can't shake the nightmare, or was it a good dream? , as he washes them in the sink. It's really thankful the apartment he chose had a bathroom so close to the master. A disgusted growl arises from his throat and Steve lets his forehead rest on the cool glass of the mirror as water runs over his fingertips absently. He stares at himself for a moment before he's disgusted once more. For a different reason this time. He's not disgusted at the mess he made; he's disgusted at himself. He hates the bags that plague his under eyes and the bruise blossoming on his cheek. Maybe even the yellowish, purple hickeys upon his neck.

Just another day at work.

\----

The buzz in his pocket surprises Steve, makes him jump, for a mere second before he takes the phone out. He examines the screen for another mere second before hitting decline quite harshly. A simple smile falls on his pretty features once more and he rests his chin on his hand absentmindedly.

"So," The person on the other side of the cafe table holds up a finger to their chin in thought and smirks. "Who was it, handsome?" Steve laughs, loud and happy, before waving his hand to dismiss the comment. Eyes prod at him though so he just sighs and slumps.

"Tony. I think he wants me to come into work, again. I can't work overtime anymore or I'm going to collapse on the street. I swear, Nat, I'm going to kill myself one of these days." A sigh escaped his plush, pink lips. Natasha focused on them before mimicking Steve's body posture and sticking her tongue out playfully.

"Ain't that the truth. Hah, but no really, Steve, you're overworking yourself. You look terrible..." She reached out a long, manicured hand before Steve smacked it away with a flinch. Deep inside, Natasha felt terrible, but what surfaced was curiosity. Why did he cringe away from the touch he seemed to crave so long ago? What's up with him? "Call me if anything goes wrong, okay?"

Natasha said this whilst glaring at her friend's bruises. They were prominent and showed up easily behind his porcelain skin. Like a doll, she thought and sipped some more of her iced coffee. Steve wearily took a sip of his as well and pinched his thigh. A nervous habit he developed.

Another buzz.

Taking his hand off the cup, he checked his screen once more and held back the groan he felt forming in his throat. Steve Rogers was not having a good day. Tony had texted and requested he come into the cafe asap since apparently, he had no excuses to not come. How to break the news to Natasha made fear run down his spine in chills. She loved their time together, and so did he, since they never get any in the first place. Jobs and business stood in the way. Taking away the bonding experience made her angry. Especially since Steve ditched her last time as well.

With a deep, sorrowful look on his face, Steve looked up with puppy dog eyes. Natasha looked agitated, nearly anticipating the news. The man easy to read, what could she say?

"Nat..."

"Steven Grant Rogers. You are not leaving me again. You fucking promised!" She whined. Though if you studied her voice close enough, you could hear the growl threatening to surface. "Forget about Tony for once. Just talk to me, bud." Steve scowled and shook his head.

"Like I could voluntarily forget about Tony. He basically controls my every move. If he says I have to go, I have to go. I can't lose my job, Nat." Steve grabbed the leather messenger bag that hung over the back of his chair and swung it over a large, broad shoulder. It looked minuscule compared to his build. He snagged the coffee as well, slamming down a ten to help pay for a tip. "Call me later, please?" Steve begs heavily before exiting the cafe and heading to the one he calls his own.

Tony's cafe was insanely different from this place. Hell Grand Cafe; it was very quaint and tiny. With white metal tables and comfortable wicker chairs, it felt somewhat like a nice cabin. The music playing inside was always calming and sweet. Not to mention the insanely good coffee.

One Hundred Acres Cafe was still small, but not even close to little like Hell Grand. Tony had a more restaurant take with wooden chairs and tables lined with black metal. The tops were a pretty, white marble which sparkled nicely in the sun. Music? Same as Hell Grand. Yet the atmosphere was completely different. Hell Grand felt sweet, homey, while One Hundred Acres was materialistic and.. business savvy? No, not the right phrase, but you get the point.

Not to rain on Tony's parade, but Steve liked Hell Grand better.

The walk from cafe to cafe wasn't long at all. It took five minutes tops, yet Tony still stands at the door, agitated as ever. He glances at Steve, an up and down look, before ushering him in. A whimsical song is what he notices first but then he realizes something. No one's here. No customers and certainly no workers dashing around.

"What happened?" Steve questions as he's pulled behind the counter almost automatically. The grip Tony has on his arm makes him want to recoil but judges against it. If he did, the boss would lose his shit.

"We closed early, that's what happened. I have to talk to you. Make us some coffee." Tony demands before walking off to sit at a nearby table. Steve looks at his iced coffee, the one he paid for, but tosses it into the trashcan anyway. Hot, black coffee is more his style.

Within a couple of minutes, Steve is sitting across from someone at a cafe for the second time today. Tony loads his coffee with even more sugar but Steve leaves his own plain. The sip he takes feels like heaven. He may be biased, but the way he makes his own coffee is better than anyone else's.

"So, what'd you want to talk to me about? You goin' out of business?" Steve teases, tongue just poking out between rows of pearly teeth. Tony takes off his sunglasses and scoffs, drinking heavily.

"No, you dipshit. I need you to work nights for a little. No one-"

"No."

"No?" Tony's voice was not teasing in the slightest, a hint of edginess on the tip of it. No one ever says the word no to Tony Stark. Obviously, it was his least favorite word in the entire English vocabulary. He could take cunt, fuck, bitch, man-slut, whore, anything and everything. But the word 'no'? Unacceptable. "You know how much I dislike it, Steven. Now you're going to work nights for me-"

"I said no, Tony. I can't. I have something I do." Tony titters at Steve's statement. What could he be doing that was so important? The man was practically dripping in free time but couldn't work the damned night shift? At a boring, empty cafe? Well not boring but certainly empty besides the two to ten people who'd be there at night.

"What do you do then, Cap?"

_"Oh fuck yeah, yes,.. god, more. You feel so good." A client, faceless, give a rock of hips that has Steve pushed forward. The man is aggressive; nipping hard at Steve's collarbones and the soft skin on his chest. Yet his thrusts are so powerful, and it makes Steve want more, more, more. He practically drools as another fierce slap goes through the air._

_The room is silent afterward. The only sounds heard are soft, sometimes loud, grunts and skin meeting skin. It's a blissful noise Steve craves daily. His climax is threatening to happen prematurely. The blonde beauty forces his eyes shut and bites his lip to hold in the cum that wants so desperately to spill. The client is thrusting harder now, and even rubbing Steve's cock in turn with them. Tears run down Steve's cheeks prettily and the man can't help himself as he slides them away with a rough thumb._

_Over stimulation seeks Steve, and is almost too much, before the client stops his hips. Steve holds his breath in turn as the man leans down and whispers right into his ear._

_"My little cock slut."_

Steve blushes heavily but regains his composure as he pinches his thigh again. He reminds himself to breathe before he looks his boss straight in his brown, warm eyes. Focus.

"I'm sorry, Tony, but I can't do nights. And don't call me Captain. You know how much I hate it."

Steve fucking loves the nickname. Embraces it around the right crowd. Hell, half the men of New York know him by it.

_"You free tonight, Captain? I got somethin' extra for you if you'd take it."_

_"C'mon, Captain. Work another shift. Sam's willing to take you home for the hell of it."_

_"Fuck me, Cap? Please? Fuck me like a man."_

"Tell whoever's got your attention that you need to work. I wanna see how you do. If you don't suit the shift, you go back to your regular hours. And no fucking up on purpose or I will fire you, Captain. Deal?" Tony holds out a calloused hand, probably from how many projects he works on, and waits. Steve thinks things over once more and somewhat shakes the hand.

"What if I say no now?" Steve wonders aloud. Tony suppresses a giggle and straightens his face, cupping their hands together warmly. It should be a comfortable gesture but with him, it felt like a snake bite.

"How much do you like this job, Cap?"

"Point taken."

\---

Night comes quite easily. Steve wanders in the area, not daring to go back to his apartment since the shift starts quite late. A whole nine o'clock! He wonders whether to text, or call, Natasha again but decides against it. Right now, he's busy worrying whether a break away from the club will cost him. How will Clint survive without his favorite friend?

He receives a call at eight forty-seven. It's, of course, Tony. Steve's loving, scary, terrible boss.

"What's up?"

"I need you here, now. We have customers and Rhodes said he's leaving since you're taking over. Cap, let's move. I need to leave and I trust you alone. Somewhat." Tony deadpanned. Steve took one more bite of his hotdog before tossing it in a nearby trashcan. All he had to do was cross the street and he was there, at One Hundred Acres.

"I'm coming in, Tony," Steve confirmed before throwing open the glass door. He sought out Tony's eyes and found them immediately. "I'm gonna hang up."

"I see you, idiot," Tony grumbled and shoved the device into his apron pocket. The elder dashed over to his employee and handed him his own red apron. Steve adorned the article immediately and dashed behind the register to take the oncoming orders.

The cafe was packed, to say the least. Steve expected quiet and easy but this was the complete opposite. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Rhodes dash out of the door. Quite happy, Steve must imagine. If he could leave, he would be happy too. All he wants to do is go to his other job. The worse job. The better job?

"Snap out of it, Steve-o!" Tony commanded. "Bruce is gonna be helping make while you take orders, alright? We're empty-handed tonight."

Bruce. Bruce Banner? His old friend. Steve hadn't seen Bruce in months, years maybe? They had met at a yacht party of Tony's and warmed significantly. Both of them had a lot of shit to talk about their friend. Steve knew Bruce was a highly respected doctor, so maybe this was a last minute favor.

"Thank you for coming to One Hundred Acres Cafe, please come again!" Steve smiled his work smile and began to take another order. Without even being here for ten minutes, Steve knew it was going to be a really long night.

It truly is the city that never sleeps.

Eventually, business began to slow, and soon it was just four people stashed in different corners, typing away on laptops. It was an exciting sight for Steve who wanted to sleep more than anything.

"So," Bruce began out of the blue around eleven. There were five customers now, and each and every one of them looking fucking tired. Steve was currently resting his head on the counter and shut his eyes for the time being. "Why do you work here out of all places?"

The question hit Steve slightly. It made him sway, swift the weight from his left to right hip. He was caught off guard, is all. Letting out a huge yawn, Steve rubbed the back of his neck and lifted his shoulders.

"Dunno. Money, I guess. Like everyone else in this damned city," Steve chuckled. The sound was muffled since his mouth wasn't out in the open. "Wish I could get away from it all." The doctor stayed quiet for a long moment. It was somewhat startling. Steve didn't think he said anything wrong. Did he? Anxiety slowly crept up his throat before Banner spoke again.

"I love New York with all my heart.. but I ag-"

The ringing of a bell, signaling a new customer, forced Bruce to stop speaking. Steve looked up out of curiosity and immediately straightened himself. His heart pumped furiously and blush spiked the tips of his ears.

God damn.

A man, with dark shoulder length hair and a five o'clock shadow, sauntered his way over to the counter. He was fucking gorgeous.

"Hi.. uh... what can I get you today?" Steve nearly stammered but kept his cool. Yet where the dark horse couldn't see, Steve was pinching his thigh rapidly.

"Can I have a large black coffee please?" His voice was even deep! Dear God, was this man sent from the heavens to ruin Steve Rogers entirely? The answer was yes, absolutely yes. And, he liked black coffee. Another good attribute of this handsome man.

"Is that all, sir?" Steve tried to hint at the word sir but the stranger was having no part of it and ignored the sexual suggestion.

"Yup."

"Name?" Thankfully, Steve could follow protocol and still know this strangers name. It made him feel giddy inside thinking about all the sexy names he could have. A Justin, maybe Alex, or even an Eric. Mmmh.

"Bucky."

Bucky? What kind of sexy name is Bucky? Steve scoffed lowly and mumbled 'It'll be right up. I'll bring it to your table'. Surely disappointed but still happy, he gave Bruce the order and went to go fetch a large. Snatching a marker off the counter, Steve elegantly wrote the name Bucky, hoping that b-u-c-k-y was how he spelled it. He even considered writing his number on the back but decided against it. Well...

Steve ended up writing his number on the bottom of the cup. If he found it, he found it. Like a treasure hunt but not quite. After a minute or so, when the coffee was ready and the cup was closed, Steve walked over to Bucky's table. It was secluded in the way back but still a comfy spot.

"Thank you. This'll be $4.15." Steve tried to lower it down on the table slow so that, maybe, Bucky could see the number underneath. Instead, it cost Steve a weird glare. Sheesh.

Before Bucky could really pay, Steve's phone buzzed in his apron pocket. Was someone calling him? Who could it be? The blonde ushered a sorry and pulled it out, checking the caller id. Fuck.

"Hey, Bruce!" Steve yelled. He realized how loud it was afterward and blushed out of timid embarrassment. Banner turned around with a curious glance and stopped polishing the One Hundred Acres brand mug. "I gotta take this call. Bucky- uh, this customer needs to pay." With a flapping heart, Steve exited the cafe in a rush, causing the looks of everyone in the building. Not that there were many people in the first place.

The wind hit him immediately. Everything felt rushed; like someone hit fast forward on a simple game.

Dragging the phone to his ear reluctantly, Steve began to speak first.

"Before you do anything, calm down."

The blonde paced back and forth, keeping one arm over his chest defensively. Street lights flickered and people walked around him, not bothering even a glance his way.

"Yes, yes, I swear I'll be coming in tomorrow," Screaming came from the other side of the line, causing Steve to flinch. The icy air wasn't helping his nerves at all. "I have another job to work. Tell him I'll do it for less tomorr-"

Sickening silence.

Steve's face went white from fear. He was a walking ghost. His whole body felt like it was on fire and freezing at the same time. A terrible feeling was taking over his stomach. He was fucking dying out here. He should be inside, in the warmth, with bodies against bodies. He should, but he wasn't.

Steve Rogers was in big trouble.


	2. aquiver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bucky's faced by his horrible past and receives a free coffee coupon to a cafe he's never heard of before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes; mention of excessive drinking/drinking to cope, stabbings and gunshot wounds, a minor character death, and other (possibly) triggering details of death.  
> Not to mention, the introduction of the Howling Commandos!  
> Please excuse me for not posting for about two months because honestly, I didn't know how to set up this chapter and wrote this in one sitting.  
> Sorry!  
> Fun fact; I cried while writing his chapter.

Earlier in the year, around the time Jacques came and went, was when Bucky found out from Wanda of all people. Found out the horrible fact that he used drinking as a way to cope.

He was completely oblivious until that point, sitting on his living room floor while Space Jam played absentmindedly on the TV. She had come over to give him a gift from the Captain and found him nursing a bottle of Jack. Wanda snatched it away, ignoring the constant whines from the man, and shoved it in her purse to dispose of away from his home. 

"Pietro's worried," Her voice was soft and concerned as she wrapped a loving arm around Bucky's broad shoulders. He leaned into the touch almost involuntarily, seeking the warmth and comfort Wanda constantly provided. It didn't last long though. She rose, all tall and powerful, and left. Left the room to grab some Advil and water. Not to mention turning off that horrid movie.

"Thanks," Bucky grumbled and downed the pill quickly. "But why are you here? Is Morita mad at me for missing a little bit?" He sounded broken down. Sounded like he ran through a shredder and came out missing more than half of himself. Which was true, she had to remind herself and rubbed his taut back.

"No, Captain is not mad at all, Buck. You're okay to miss work for this. For him," Wanda was quite offended. Offended that Bucky thought the Captain would be angry at him for losing such a big part of his life. For losing Jacques. "And he wanted me to bring you some orange chocolate. We know that's your favorite." She grinned, all wolf teeth and bright smiles. Bucky had to do a double take, mind running more than usual, not used to the company. Here she was though, his new best friend apparently. 

He nodded dumbly and watched her plop the tray into his blanket covered lap. It was red, decorated seductively like most chocolate boxes for some reason, and not opened. Usually, when Jacques would give him a gift like this, it would be ripped in some place because he couldn't control himself. He liked orange too. Bucky grabbed an odd looking piece and plopped it into his mouth, trying not to cry from the taste. The chocolate reminded him too much of Jacques and his presence, that maybe it was too much. He wanted to delve back into that place, that horrid place but swallowed without savoring.

Wanda smiled encouragingly at him and took a piece for herself. Bucky focused on her red, manicured nails as she moaned. 

"Mmmh. This is so good." Bucky nodded along and put the box more toward her, looking out the glass doors to his backyard. It was weedy and long. Maybe he should mow soon to get mind off him. The house could use some dusting too. No one's been in here for a long time; Bucky never stays here. It's always either sleeping at the station or at a Howling Commandos house to crash. "Are you listening to me, Buck?"

Those nails were snapped in front of his face and he jumped, scared from the tiny, abrasive movement. Wanda looked stricken, like she was looking at the face of a stranger, but popped back in a fraction of a second. No matter how hard she tried to mask it with happiness, he saw it. Saw the cover she had up lowered. It made him think again. He hasn't thought like this... since then. Since that fateful morning, really. What're you supposed to do when Gabe hands you a flask after that? Not accept, pretend everything's alright when your life is falling apart at the seams?

"Yeah, I'm listening to you, Wanda." The atmosphere was pulled tight like a string. It was suffocating and Bucky wanted her to leave more than anything. As much of a sad sap he was, loneliness felt better than company. It felt better than sad stares and dollar store orange chocolate from the man who hadn't even had the decency to call.

"You use drinking to cope, don't you?" Wanda blurted. All the air in Bucky's gut felt like it was punched out. Someone had sneaked into his home and kicked him in the stomach at that exact moment. That's why he's feeling out of breath and almost hyperventilating. "Buck. Answer me."

Bucky responded with a tired shrug, letting his shoulders fall helplessly. 

"Oh my god. You didn't know." Arms were hugging him then. All Bucky wanted to do was push them off, make her leave this sacred living room floor he had declared his own. He couldn't though. Whether he didn't have the energy or didn't want to hurt her feelings. Instead, he hugged her back, using that infamous flowery scent to ground him to the present. Bucky's slipping through, though, at a million miles an hour. He's slipping so fast and hard, into that dark memory that haunts his headspace every single second of the day.

\---

_The phone had rung, all shrill and uncomfortable in Bucky's ears. He sat up quickly and slammed a bare arm over his eyes, rubbing them of the sleep he had been in just a second ago. Grabbing the device from off his nightstand, he realized the caller was Jacques, and it was four a.m. What could this doofus want, Bucky mused and accepted._

_"Bucky? You there?" Jacques' voice was high and shrill, alien from the usual confidence he exuded. "God Buck. I need you at the murder house, quick. I heard something upstairs and I don't know if it's a raccoon or somethin' but you know I don't like those nasty things. I'm gonna investigate but come, okay?" Bucky's nerves were through the roof as he shoved on some sweatpants and an old Metallica t-shirt. He held the phone using his shoulder and neck, yelling into the receiver._

_"No, Jac, don't go up there. If it is a raccoon, you'll get your eyes clawed out. Wait for me. 'M coming. And why are you there now?" His voice was groggy and tired sounding, which he was. Extremely. Overtime was kicking his ass recently, but having Jacques supply jokes was the highlight of his day. Having him do shit like this definitely was not. Because, truly, it was not that abnormal coming from the man._

_"I don't know," Jacques admitted, and it sounded as if he was shrugging. Bucky could picture it; mustache, skinny body, cap, and all. It wasn't hard at all, really. "But we're onto something, Buck. We're so close and I can smell it. Help me search when you come, too. Tonight's the night, man. April 12th, the day Barnes and Dernier found the evidence to close the case once and for all."_

_Bucky laughed, prancing out into the warm spring air and speeding off in his mediocre, pretty old car. Jacques teases him about it all the time, calling him a grade A hipster. It rolls off his shoulders though because it's his baby, it is. This 1977 Chrysler Cordoba Coupe was all strength and muscle and ran perfectly. Plus, her name was Adeline._

_"Sure. But I'm hauling your ass to bed at five. We got an hour, Jacques, no more."_

_He sped through the streets, smiling and giddy as can be. Even if he was woken up not even five minutes ago, his partner made up for it. Their searching probably wasn't allowed, either, but was Jacques going to stop? No. And that's what made it fun, anyway."_

_The murder house, as Jacques called it, was where Ms. Carol Danvers had been shot. They don't know who killed her yet as the murder had been perfectly suave but have some ideas. The biggest culprit was Steven Danvers, Carol's younger brother. He had been missing for about six months and no one had seen, or heard, from him. Her other brother, Joe jr., had been in Washington, had a rock-solid alibi, and was happy to supply information on the relationship between the two._

_Ms. Danvers had been found by a neighbor who heard the gunshots apparently and went to check if she was alright. They found her in the kitchen with a hole in her chest, one in her stomach, and one in the middle of her neck. It was a gruesome scene, with blood splattering all over the linoleum floors and aged cupboards. Bucky and Jacques took on the case immediately and took a liking to the entire mystery. No murder weapon had been found but was identified as a .44 Magnum Revolver. Everything about it was interesting, to say the least._

_Bucky arrived ten minutes later, stretching out his limbs as he entered the deserted house. He called for Jacques but received no answer. The man was probably too deep discovering evidence to pay attention to the noise, Bucky decided and wandered around. The house looked normal, with the old 1920's vibe and whatnot. Nothing seemed out of place and Jacques was nowhere to be found so Bucky headed upstairs._

_The door to the attic was open. Stairs led down to the plush, horrid carpet underneath his feet and Bucky nearly gasped in surprise. He hadn't even known there was an attic in the house. No one investigating had found an opening but apparently, Jacques had. The old genius. Bucky grinned at the revelation and started up._

_"Jacques, you sly dog! How'd you find this?" Bucky called and peeped his head into the dusty room. It was long and big, spanning the whole floor, and covered in useless junk. A superhero costume was laid lazily upon a wooden chair on the side, a giant bunny sat in the corner looking moldy and gross. Out of everything, the air was the worst. It was hard to breathe up here so hopefully, he'd fine him and get out quick. "Where are you, bud?"_

_Bucky ventured forward and reeled. The smell was even worse here and it was... coppery? He identified it in a second. Realization dropped in his gut and Bucky had to resist the urge to freak out. It was blood. He had smelled it enough in his career to know the exact in's and out's. Jacques cut himself, he repeated like a mantra under his breath. Nothing happened._

_Rounding a corner, he saw it. Saw everything and nearly dropped to the floor. Nearly took his life, right then and there, just to forget. Forget what was happening right in front of him. He couldn't though, because Jacques is softly calling his name and reaching out like a toddler._

_Jacques was dying. He was bleeding out and dying in this shithole of an attic at the murder house. Oh god._

_Bucky counted what he could see; determine the damage, Morita had said that first day. Determine the damage and figure out what to do before it's too late. Jacques had been stabbed four times: one on the leg, where a bullet hole rested casually next to it, one on his arm, one on his chest, and another on the calve. Bucky was freaking out, having a panic attack, as Jacques spoke._

_"Bucky, I'm fine. God, I'm fine. Call 911, please. Please, or I'm going to die, Buck."_

_He did call, and it was shameful the way he spoke. He spoke with a slight tremble, tears streaking down full cheeks and resting in slight stubble on his jaw. Jacques offered a tiny grin while he said what he needed to. It was like Bucky was the one dying and Jacques was helping him through the pain. The roles were somehow reversed and Bucky hated it. Couldn't he be strong in the one moment his friend needed him more than anything?_

_"Dernier down. I repeat, Dernier down."_

_Jacques died on the way to the hospital. The ambulance wasn't fast enough, Bucky cried and hopped in with him. He looked positively happy as he was laid on the stretcher, the paramedics screaming this and that. Bucky couldn't focus; all he could see was the way Jacques was smiling at him and the way he was rubbing circles into his palm._

_Jacques kept speaking and speaking even if the paramedics told him not to, shushing and softly reassuring that everything was going to be okay._

_"You are strong, so strong, Buck. Make a difference for me, yeah?  Tell the Howling Commandos to-" He hissed in pain and struggled to maintain the happiness that laced his features. Bucky choked back a sob and shut his eyes tight. "-to keep going. Keep living. I love you, Bucky."_

_"No," Bucky insisted, gripping harder and harder like a lifeline. "You're going to live and you're going to be fine. Jacques, tell me you're going to be fucking fine." Jacques shook his head slowly and pressed down once._

_"I love you, Bucky." Was all he said before everything went black and slight panic erupted in the ambulance._

_Steven's fingerprints were found on a bloodied knife in the attic. Apparently, he had been living up there on canned goods and bottled water. Carol had no idea and the day she went to get something from the attic, she saw him and ran downstairs where she met her demise in the kitchen. No gun was found but Jacques right rib was broken, and so was a bone in his foot. The worst part of this was that Steven was running free. He was out in the public, ready to kill and armed._

_The thought had Bucky puking into a bucket every day._

\---

Wanda snapped Bucky out of his thoughts by speaking again. She looked sad and distressed, her face contorting like she saw a dying animal. Bucky felt enraged and fisted his blanket. She had no reason to look at him like that, even if Pietro and she were the ones to discover the hidden knife and take the first look at the entire bloody scene.

"I'm sorry, Bucky. I know that's not enough and you're tired of hearing it but... I love you." Soft spot. "And I hate seeing you like this. Please, go out tonight, yeah? Even if it's something small. I want you to go outside, for me and the Howling Commandos."

The Howling Commandos had started as an inside joke. A drug lord had called the NYPD that as he was getting taken away and eventually, everyone in the station had started calling each other that. It escalated quickly and now everyone knew them as the Howling Commandos. Bucky wore it as a badge of pride, but now that Jacques was gone, it didn't seem appropriate.

"Okay," Bucky agreed, giving her some false hope. Frankly, everything was falling apart and going outside seemed like shit but he had to leave sometime, right? "I'll do it. Thank you, Wanda. I love you too."

\---

Bucky doesn't go out that much.

It's November now and the air is brisk and cold. Bucky's trailing the streets late a night, searching for a coffee shop because he's working overtime once more. The Captain allows him breaks and lets Bucky take about half an hour off anytime he wants. Being there is torture for him, Morita and the rest of the Howling Commandos see that clear as day, but Bucky insists on being there. He insists to keep his old desk and let Jacques' desk be replaced by someone else. He insists he can handle the change.

Bucky's changed a lot in these past few months. His hair, once mildly short, is now down to his shoulders. His scruff was now turned into proper stubble, all handsome and attractive. He's grown up so much and it's evident in the way he walks and talks. It breaks poor Wanda's heart.

"Here," She says on his way out. Pietro gives him a curious glance and waves at Bucky. Bucky waves back then gives his focus to Wanda again. Her fire hair is in a loose top bun, messy and somehow still gorgeous. "I have a coupon for a free coffee. Take it." He, wearily, grabs the stub and examines it. It's for a shop called 'One Hundred Acres Cafe', and Bucky's never heard about it before so Wanda gives him easy enough directions. 

He thanks her, and waves to Pietro again as he leaves the station, more than slightly confused but happy enough that he was getting something free. He set off, trying to remember the directions in his head, and avoiding suspicious individuals at all costs. He is on his break, after all.

When Bucky sees the cafe, he's surprised at how... pretty it looks. The front is all glass and inside, he can see marble countertops and clean tables. Barely anyone's there so it makes everything so much better. He doesn't have to awkwardly make small talk with customers as he waits for his black coffee because, at every new place, you need to get a black coffee.

Pushing open the glass door, Bucky is greeted by artificial warmth and the sweet aroma of coffee beans. It's like heaven for him and, holding the cupon securely in his grasp, Bucky walks up to the counter. And, oh wow, there's a cute barista with blonde hair and blue eyes blushing like a virgin on prom night.


End file.
